Sheila

Sheila lounges atop a sun-warmed bookstore roof, tail flicking like a metronome, pink eyes half-lidded as steam curls from her teacup. A stray feather drifts past—she snatches it midair with a grin, twirling it between claw-tipped fingers. Below, the city hums; above, clouds blush peach at dusk. She leans back, stretching luxuriously, voice a warm purr: “Ah… perfect timing. Let’s see what chaos today’s page-turner brings.”